The Dividing Gulf
by dracoismyboyfriendguys
Summary: When Beth calls Rachel late one night, there can only be one person it's about. Their mother, their mom has Alzheimer's.
1. Chapter 1

"Hello?"

"Hi." A pause. Two sets of breathing echo through the phone line. "Rachel?"

"Yes- who is this? How did you get this number?" Rachel doesn't necessarily intend the hostility which tinges her questions, but it really would be rather inconvenient if her number has been leaked on some Broadway forum site again. It would be the third time in as many months.

The voice at the other end takes a shaky breath and Rachel prepares herself to only half-heartedly listen to the awestruck ramble of some teenaged fan which is sure to follow, while simultaneously emailing both her agent and personal assistant to get a new phone number as soon as possible.

"Oh, I'm sorry… my da-… Noah… Noah Puckerman gave me your number." The jolt of the familiar name, albeit one she hasn't thought much about in a while, ceases Rachel's thoughts of whether she should use this as an opportunity to upgrade her phone. There's a slight pause again, but this time Rachel is hanging on every shaking breath. "My name is Beth. Beth Corcoran."

Rachel's hands begin to shake. She doesn't really notice until she hears the glass screen clattering repeatedly against the diamond stud in her ear. Beth Corcoran. At one point a name which reflected less a person, and more the concept of Rachel being entirely unlovable. At least in her teenage mind. It wasn't until a few years later, when she could put a shining pair of wide, brown eyes, cheeky dimples and a mess of blonde hair to the name that she even thought of Beth as a real, live being. A little girl.

A little girl who she hasn't seen since she was what- twelve? A little blonde haired girl in the dressing room at the opening night performance of one of Rachel's first Broadway shows, chattering away about the costumes and the lights and the songs. A little girl clutching onto the hand of her mother.

Her mother.

Their mother.

Well, Rachel's mother and Beth's mom.

In another lifetime, the two girls, whose stories weren't all that different, really, would have been sisters. But they weren't. Not really. Because as much as people want to believe that mother and mom are two words for the same thing, they're not. Rachel knows that. She told her mother as much not long after that opening night performance. Told her that she got it now- why the two relationships would always be so different; the dividing gulf between mother and mom.

But there's only one word for daughter.

It's Rachel's turn to take a shaky breath. "Is- Is she okay?"

Beth's sobs echoing down the phone line provide a confirmation that Rachel didn't really need. Of course she's not okay. Rachel and Beth have never interacted without her so it makes sense that they wouldn't interact unless because of her. And an unexpected weekday phone call between the two is out of place in the usual greeting-card relationship. Rachel hadn't received either a Christmas or a birthday card the previous year. She assumed maybe she'd fallen off the list.

"Beth?"

"Sh-She's sick, Rachel. Really, really sick." There's more sobbing. Rachel uses the time to take a few deep breaths and get the shaking in her hands under control. She moves across her living room, throwing a quick, cautionary glance to the quiet upstairs where she hopes her two children are still sleeping soundly, and lowers herself down to the edge of one of the red velvet sofas.

"What is it, Beth? What's wrong with her?" she asks once the sobbing has died down a little. She remembers once, back when they were closer during Rachel's first few years in New York, her mother telling her about the battle against ovarian cancer she'd had in her twenties. She'd won, of course, but still had to go for regular check ups. Rachel had updated her own family history the next time she went to her own check up with the doctor. It was the first, and only, thing she could add to the maternal side.

"Beth?" Rachel prompts again.

"I'm sorry," the shaking voice answers. "It's- She's been getting worse for a while, but I didn't want to w-worry you."

"Hey, Beth, it's okay, I promise," Rachel says, adopting the voice she uses for her own children when they come into her room after a nightmare. "Whatever it is, you can tell me and I'll be there."

Beth sniffs a few more times. "I-It's Alzheimer's, Rachel. E-early onset, a-and it was okay for a while. She seemed so okay."

Rachel tries desperately to swallow the lump growing in her throat. Alzheimer's? Her first thought is that there must be some mistake. Her mother is what, sixty? She doesn't even know how old her own mother is. But still, it's too soon. Her fathers have a good decade on her mother at the very least, and she hasn't had to even contemplate thinking about things like this with them yet.

Beth seems to take Rachel's silence as a request for more information. "She was officially diagnosed mid-way through last year, but she still seemed herself then, you know? They warned me that there might be a rapid decline in her cognitive state at some point." Rachel recognises doctor-speak when she hears it. "But it's just happened so- so fast. She's leaving me, Rachel."

A fresh round of crying enters Rachel's ears and she reaches her own hand up to wipe at her own, silent tears.

"Sh- she didn't even recognise me the other day, Rachel. She didn't know who I was. I- I've had to move her into a home, and I went to see her. She usually looks so happy, but sh- she didn't know me. I tried to remind her- that's what the nurses told me to do. To just remind her, and start talking about a favourite memory we have together, but she just got so frustrated with me. I- I've never seen her like that."

Rachel thinks about the version of her mother that she knew. Frustration was probably the main emotion. Either directed at her and their precariously balanced situation, or her students. But then she remembers the times she saw Beth interacting with her mom. She was never anything but gentle, understanding, loving.

"I- I know that the two of you have always had a complicated relationship, Rachel," Beth starts, and it takes everything in Rachel not to scoff even in this moment. Complicated is a gross understatement. "But I don't know what to do anymore."

Rachel's heart breaks a little more for the girl. She realises that, maybe for the first time in Beth's whole life, she isn't jealous of her, but rather pities her. And then Beth says something which turns the pang in her chest into a pounding ache.

"She's asking for you."

"What?"

Beth sighs. It's still shaky. "The other day, when I was there with her, I tried to tell her that I was her daughter. And sh- she said that she only had one daughter, and th-that I wasn't her."

Rachel shuts her eyes tightly as more tears pour down her face. She knows all too well what it's like to be denied by a parent, and even that, she guesses, can't be as heartbreaking as what Beth has been through.

"Then she started asking the nurses when her daughter was coming to see her, and when they pointed to me and said that I was right there. Sh-she just looked at me w-with this blank look in her eyes, and said, 'No not her. Rachel'."

In some twisted way, Rachel's heart leaps a little. She knows that she told her mother she understood that they would never have a traditional mother-daughter relationship, a mom-daughter relationship. But a part of her has always, always wanted her mother to acknowledge her that way. And now she finally has.

"She's just confused, Beth," Rachel says, finally breaking into Beth's monologue. And her heart breaks a little more. "It's the disease talking."

Beth sniffles softly. "I know. And I've tried telling myself that, and that my mom is still in there somewhere. B-but it's not the first time, Rachel."

"It's not?"

"No, she's been talking about you quite a lot. The doctors, they say that she's going to different places in her memory, and that's why she can't remember me. But she brings you up a lot. Sh- she asks if you're going to come visit her. She thinks someone is keeping you from coming to see her."

An unasked question hangs in the air.

"Where is she?"

"Rachel, you don't have to-"

"I know, Beth."

"I just thought you deserved to know."

"Thank you for telling me, I'm glad you did."

"I don't want to interrupt your life."

"You're not."

"I know you're probably busy."

"Beth," Rachel snaps, maybe harsher than she intended. "You haven't done anything wrong. Thank you for calling, okay?"

"O-okay."

"Are you two still in the city?"

It's been over fifteen years since Rachel saw her mother in New York. She knows that she moved to California for a while for work, but the affinity for the city has always been something the two shared. Rachel always kept an eye out, a flash of blonde and brunette slinking out of a cab, or a particularly strong vibrato echoing through a karaoke bar. She never saw them.

"Long Island," Beth replies. "I moved away for college, but I-I'm back now."

"Okay." Rachel mentally thinks through upcoming obligations. She's not working at the moment, having taken some time to focus on the kids while her husband is doing eight shows a week. They always try to alternate. "If it's not too soon, I'm free tomorrow. I could come over once the kids are at school?"

"Really? That would be great. We don't have to- you know- go to her tomorrow. But I can explain everything a bit more? It must be lot to have thrown on you all at once."

"Beth, it's okay. Text me your address and I can be there by midday. My husband might come too, if that's alright?"

"Of course!" A shadow of excitement traces her words for the first time and Rachel's heart bleeds for her. How long has she been doing this alone? Her mother was never a loner by any means, but from what she saw, she always got the impression that it was largely just her and Beth. "Jesse, right?"

A small smile tugs on the corner of Rachel's lips, as it does every time someone mentions her husband. "Right."

"And kids?"

Rachel can't help but grin a bit. "We have two. Isabella and Isaac."

"I'm an aunt?"

Suddenly the gulf between mother and mom doesn't seem to matter so much. Perspective is a funny thing, Rachel supposes. "You are. They'd love to meet you."

"Me too."

"Look, Beth. I'm sorry I haven't been around more. Time has a funny way of getting out of hand."

"It's okay, Rach, I promise." Beth's use of her nickname doesn't go unnoticed. "You're here now, and I'm so excited to see you. And I know Mom will be too."

Tears sting the backs of Rachel's eyes again. "I am. I'll see you tomorrow, Beth. And we'll get through this- together."

"Thank you, Rachel."

"Don't thank me." She wants to add that that's what family does for each other- but something stops her. She glances up at the clock and realises it's quickly approaching eleven. "I've got to go check on the kids and get dinner ready for Jesse now. But let me know where you want me to meet you tomorrow and I'll be there."

"Okay, bye."

"Sleep well, Beth."

"You too."

She hears the line go dead and slowly lowers the phone to rest next to her on the sofa. And then she brings her legs up to her chin, collapses her head and sobs.

They tried, a few times. They'd tried to establish some kind of relationship, but there's no guide book to help you through reuniting with a mother who was never intended to be a mother. But this couldn't have been how it was always supposed to end. With them writing Christmas cards to each other, barely adding more sentiment than the prewritten messages inside. Surely, surely one day there would have been a reunion that Hollywood writers would have snapped up to make some kind of heartwarming movie. And now, Rachel realises, as her tears begin to soak through her jeans, there never will be.

She doesn't hear a key turning in the lock, or her husband softly announcing his presence so as not to wake their children, and expecting his wife to run into his arms, as she does every other night. "Rachel?" Jesse calls out into the seemingly deserted apartment. He hangs his coat up and tentatively rounds the hallway into the living room. As his wife did earlier, he throws a glance up the stairs to see whether she's still up there, tending to their children. She sometimes is, if one of them is sick or can't sleep. He sees nothing but the dark hallway dimly illuminated by nightlights outside each of their children's bedrooms.

The living room, on first look, seems equally quiet, although all of the lamps are still on. It isn't until he gets closer to the back of the sofa that he sees his wife, curled up into a small ball crying noiselessly to herself. He quickly kneels in front of her, placing a cautious hand on one of her shuddering shoulders.

"Rach?" he whispers; he doesn't want to alarm her. "Baby, what's happened?"

She finally realises his presence and looks up at him with red, glassy eyes. Her lip trembles and fresh tears spill down her stained cheeks.

"She's sick, Jesse."

He furrows his brow. "Who, baby? Isabella?"

Rachel shakes her head sadly and pushes herself forward so she can lay her head on her husband's shoulder.

"It's Shelby. It's my mom."

* * *

_**A/N: **_**This is my first time writing for a while, and definitely my first time writing these characters. Hope you enjoyed! Please leave a review and part two will be up soon. This will probably be a four part story.**


	2. Chapter 2

"God, it's just not _right_!" Rachel growls, annunciating the last word by flinging the dress she's just pulled off onto the bed. Or, more precisely, onto her unsuspecting husband's head.

"Hey- what did that dress ever do to you?" Jesse asks with a pout. "Or me for that matter?" He detangles the spaghetti straps from his hair and turns the dress the right way out, smoothing the creases before lying it on the growing pile next to him.

"I-!" Rachel spins round, crossing her arms over her bra-covered chest, poised for an attack but stops when she finally takes in the mess she's made of their bedroom. The dresses are just the latest victims; pretty much every pair of trousers she owns are scattered across the floor wherever she stamped them off. Some of the waistbands are still stiffly upright against the floor, phantom limbs forcing Rachel to see her path of destruction. Sweaters hang limply from the chair at her vanity and several pairs of shoes are positioned perfectly to trip up anyone stupid enough to attempt to traverse the room.

"I'm sorry," she says weakly. She turns again to face her closet. She's really never been the type to claim that nothing in her wardrobe will fit the situation. Rehearsals and performances are easy: a sweater and leggings that she'll strip out of the second she gets in her dressing room anyway. Event outfits are coordinated by her stylist and are usually just ripped straight from the pages of magazines. Mom-mode outfits are whatever's clean. She hasn't really just been _Rachel_ for a while, and now she doesn't know how on earth Rachel is supposed to dress.

Her eyes fall on a red plaid skirt stuffed near the back of the closet that she doesn't remember buying. A brief image flits across her mind of her fifteen-year-old self in a similarly hideous skirt accompanied by some ghastly animal sweater. Maybe, she thinks with a wry grin, she should just return to those days. So what if she looked like- what was it?- an 'overgrown toddler'? At least her wardrobe then presented her with a uniformly composed outfit everyday.

Maybe then, dressed like her fifteen-year-old self, her mother might recognise her. Rachel's stomach twists. Even in her own head, that's the first time she's admitted why she's having such trouble dressing herself today.

"Rach?" Jesse's voice causes her to jolt.

"Huh?" She turns again to face her husband, who's furrowing his brow at her. "Sorry, Jess, what did you say?"

"I just asked whether you were okay. You were doing that thing where you stare into space and twiddle your earring."

"No I wasn't," Rachel protests, pulling her hand away from her ear.

"_Sure_ you weren't," Jesse says with a smirk. When his wife doesn't return it,- she's not even making eye contact- he crosses the space between them and places his hands gently on her shoulders. "It's going to be okay, Rach. You don't have to do this today if it's too soon."

"No!" Rachel says quickly, taking a step back. Her arms feel cold without Jesse's hands running over them, so she pulls her own around her.

"Rach, you know I went to drama school, right?" Rachel frowns at him. "You're doing a nice demonstration of the literal textbook pose for 'closed-off and yet emotionally vulnerable'." With a sheepish grin, she lowers her arms and is now, instead, wringing her hands. "_Talk_ to me, Rach."

"I'm fine," Rachel says with a firm nod.

"Are you trying to convince me, or yourself?"

"I'm not _trying_ to convince anyone! Now, are you done with your psychoanalysis, Mr Freud? Please just help me find something to wear." She tosses a red button-down at him. Maybe if she pairs this with her nice boyfriend jeans?

Jesse deftly catches the shirt and moves to help her rummage through the few clothes still in the closet. "I'm just worried about you," he mutters, after a few minutes of silence.

Rachel swallows. "You don't need to be."

"I do. It's kind of my job."

"Oh, really? I thought you were an actor?"

Jesse rolls his eyes and then looks down at his wife, the ghost of a small smile lingering behind her eyes. He reaches up to cup her face. "You'll be okay, baby."

She blinks. When she opens her eyes, they're fixed intently on a small patch of carpet a few feet behind him. "What if she doesn't recognise me?"

Her voice, which Jesse knows first-hand holds the potential to fill any room, is barely audible. In fact, if he hadn't felt the vibrations, he wouldn't be sure that she had spoken at all.

He sighs and rubs his thumb softly over her cheekbone. "If she doesn't, she doesn't, Rach. What you're wearing won't make a difference."

"I know." Her eyes flicker once more across the messy room. A dry laugh escapes her throat. "God, why am I this worked up over stupid _clothes_? It's not like she's even going to remember what I'm wearing anyway!"

"Rach-."

"What? She's _my_ mother. If I'm not allowed to joke about it, who is?" Jesse shifts uneasily as Rachel shoots a small, humourless smile up at him. "Sorry- I just- I can't believe this is happening."

"I know, baby," he says, enveloping her in a tight hug. "I know."

"Rachel!" Beth squeals as soon as she opens the door, flinging herself into the older woman's arms. Regathering her balance, Rachel allows herself to tentatively return the embrace and shoots her husband a slightly confused glance around the mess of blonde hair obscuring most of her face.

He shrugs and smirks slightly. He considers this karma for all the times his wife has had her own lack of personal boundaries.

"Hey, Beth," Rachel finally gasps once her non-sister has relinquished her from her tight grasp.

Beth just grins widely and then spins round to hold the door open for them. "Come in, come in!"

Rachel reaches to grasp Jesse's hand, who squeezes her own back, before stepping across the threshold into Beth's home. Into her mother's home.

"God, I can't believe how cold it's getting already!" Beth says, with her back to them as she walks through the entrance hallway. Rachel pulls Jesse closer to her and follows. "I'm just not used to it, I guess. I only got back from California, like, two months ago. It doesn't get that cold there. I suppose you guys are used to it though. From what I remember of Ohio, it gets, like, crazy cold, right?"

She stops once they emerge into what Rachel supposes is the living room. It's bright and open, with some kind of tasteful nautical theme.

"Right," Jesse confirms.

Beth smiles again. "Right, like we have all these pictures from when I was there as a baby and it's like crazy. I mean my coat was literally bigger than me!"

She continues her rambling but Rachel is only half listening. Instead, she glances around the room. Aside from the hanging, slightly abstract watercolours of boats, there are a few framed pictures dotted about the space. Most are of Beth: Beth at what looks to be a dance competition, dressed in a tutu with her arm around another girl, Beth as a baby in the bath, Beth in a cap and gown, holding her diploma proudly. But, as she scans them quickly, Rachel spots her mother too, grinning up from behind the glass. Usually either accompanied by a small, blonde-haired girl, or- in or two- with friends, laughing gleefully at some private joke.

But it isn't until she spots the one in the middle of the mantlepiece, in between two large candles, that Rachel becomes distinctly aware of her heart thumping in her chest. In a cream, gilded frame is a picture of her and Jesse on their wedding day. It's not one of the pictures from the professional photographer. No, Rachel has those all committed to memory and she definitely doesn't recognise this one. It looks like it must be from the reception, her veil having long-since been removed and a few loose strands of hair framing her face. Her and Jesse are grinning at each other like they're the only two people in the room, on the planet. Eyes full of love and hope. Framed on her mother's mantel.

"Rach?" Jesse's voice, once again, breaks her from her thoughts. She tears her gaze from the pictures and turns to her husband. His eyes are flicking from hers to Beth's. She's missed something.

"Sorry, what did you say?" she asks the blonde, injecting a cheer into her voice around the lump in her throat.

"I was just saying you look really well!" Rachel smiles and fingers the hem of her red button-down nervously.

"Thanks. You look pretty good yourself."

Beth waves her off. "Most of my stuff is still in storage." Rachel truly takes in her appearance for the first time. Her hair is still definitely blonde, but she has some darker roots growing in, framing her face which is so similar to Quinn's. Apart from the eyes. She has Noah's dark brown eyes, which seem to light up every time she speaks. She's also in jeans and a shirt, making Rachel very glad she decided against the dress. All of the dresses. The deep purple blouse, black jeans and knee high leather boots cast an air of familiarity to Rachel. As do the black painted nails and long fingers adorned with silver rings.

Then it strikes her. It's Shelby. The outfit, the slightly curled hair, the confident demeanour. Rachel knows she's looking at Shelby Corcoran's daughter.

Rachel swallows hard and forces her attention to whatever it is Beth is saying.

"I- uh- I wasn't- I'm not really sure how long I'm going to be here for, you know. So I've put off moving all my stuff back in. I think I will, though." She trails off, and blinks steadily before shaking her head. "Right, sorry. Enough chit-chat!" She glances at the clock behind Rachel and Jesse. "We have about half an hour before we need to go and meet the nurses, and I know I'm just about _dying_ for a coffee! Anyone else?"

"That would be great, thanks," Jesse answers for the both of them, reaching for his wife's hand again.

"Great," Beth beams, striding towards the archway which leads to the kitchen. She stops and turns suddenly. "And you get ready! I want to see some pictures of my sure-to-be adorable niece and nephew!"

"That's about everything, right, B?" the male nurse, Rachel can't remember what he said his name was, finishes, looking expectantly at Beth. He, and a female nurse, with prompting from Beth, have just finished giving Rachel and Jesse a brief - half-hour- rundown of Shelby's case. From initial symptoms, to diagnosis, to inpatient facilitation, to now. Whatever now means.

Rachel tried to pay attention, she really did. But she could feel Jesse nodding intently next to her, meaning he was taking it all in. So she drifted in and out a little. Besides, she was too distracted by the easy interaction between Beth and the nurses. And the woman's casual usage of the medical terminology, her detailed knowledge of both the general disease and her mother's specific case.

_Her_ mom's specific case.

"Yeah, that about sums it up, Sammy, thanks," Beth agrees with a firm nod. She seems to catch some of Rachel's discomfort and reaches out to catch her hand. "I know it's a lot, Rach. Trust me, I do. But it's okay. It's under control."

Rachel can see that. But she doesn't want to admit that that's part of her problem. She doesn't want to admit to being that selfish. So she simply returns Beth's smile weakly and squeezes her hand back.

"And I'm just so, _so_ glad that you're here."

Rachel can't bring herself to respond to that so she just sits up straighter in her seat and looks towards the nurses.

"So," she wills the tremble in her voice to disappear- years of vocal training have to count for something,- "what happens now?"

"Well," Sammy starts, "that's really up to you and B. It's a visiting day today, and Beth's filled in the forms already so you and your husband are more than welcome to go and see Ms Corcoran today. She seems well this morning, so, like I said, completely up to the two of you."

But it's not. Not really. So Rachel looks towards Beth, ready to follow her lead.

"I think Mom would really like to see you, Rach. I think it would mean a lot to her." Beth's eyes are full of hope, and Rachel's stomach lurches slightly. But if that's what Beth thinks. "You too, Jesse." She redirects her attention to the nurses. "You guys said that she might like to see people from her past, right? And Jesse you were close to Mom weren't you?"

"I- uh- yeah. Yes, we were close."

Rachel can almost feel the pitying look he shoots her. She focuses on the seam of her jeans.

"Perfect," Beth says. "Yeah, Mom was always going off on one about her Vocal Adrenaline days."

"God, hon," the female nurse chuckles, "I don't pity you having her as a teacher. One look from Ms Corcoran is enough to strike fear into the hearts of even our toughest nurses."

Rachel hears Jesse scoff. "You guys should count yourself lucky she doesn't have you doing musical suicides. Those things were, believe it or not, deadly."

"And yet, none of you have had to survive coming home to her after your first time drinking, have you?" Beth interjects. "Now, _that's_ what I call scary. I still have nightmares about Mom's face peering at me through her bedroom window while I tried, and failed, to get my key into the lock."

They all laugh as Jesse launches into similar a story about Coach Corcoran's tirade at her students after a particularly boisterous nationals after-party. But Rachel can barely hear it over the sound of her own blood rushing past her ears. She's managed to pick a thread loose in her jeans and is now wrapping it round her pinky finger. It's turning red. She wasn't there for any of that.

She wasn't there as a scared nurse, an admonished student, or a repentant drunken teenager. She wasn't there to see the look on her mother's face that they're all joking about. She wasn't there.

_She_ wasn't there.

"Right, I'm sorry to break this up, but I have a meeting with Mr Williams' daughter," the female nurse says. Rachel looks up to see her grimacing at Beth.

"Dear God. Good luck with that one," Beth laughs. "She was a real ball-ache in the support groups. My advice is to get the Kleenex ready. Lots and lots of Kleenex."

The nurse groans as she gets up, sending a quick 'nice to meet you' to Rachel and Jesse, who replies likewise.

"I can take you guys up, if you'd like," Sammy offers, also standing.

"That would be great, thanks," Beth says. She links her arm into Rachel's who allows herself to be pulled into a standing position. "Ready, Rach?"

Rachel has to clear her throat slightly. It's gone dry. "Sure."

Sammy leads them up a flight of creaky, wooden stairs and along a corridor with the same, dark wood wall panelling and floorboards. It's not that it's creepy, per se, but, Rachel thinks, if the whole nursing home things doesn't work out, they could definitely loan this building out to shoot horror movies.

There are a few framed paintings on the wall, a forest, a horse, something else equally anonymous and mind-numbing. And it all looks exactly the same.

"You know," Beth says, "it's really no wonder that the people here keep forgetting where they are, it all looks exactly the same."

Rachel is the only one who laughs.

Beth grins. "Finally, someone else with a sense of humour. Come on! It's either laugh or cry people!"

Sammy just shakes his head. "Think you can take it from here, B? Or does it all look too similar?"

"Nah, I got it."

Sammy says a quick goodbye, reminds them (Beth) of what to do in an emergency, and descends back down the stairs.

"Her suite's just down here," Beth tells Jesse and Rachel, as she continues down the corridor. "I've tried to make it as homely as possible, but if you guys think of anything you want to bring then feel free!"

Rachel knows she's just being polite. After all, what could she have to contribute to making her mother feel at home?

She notices Beth and Jesse, with their longer legs, have gotten ahead of her and are waiting outside a frosted glass door for her. The name, printed on a sheet of metal and slotted into its holder on the door, reads '_Shelby Marie Corcoran, 64, Early-Onset Alzheimer's_'.

Rachel's breath catches in her throat. Her mother's middle name is Marie. She's sixty-four. Two days ago, only two of the words on that sign would have meant anything to her.

Jesse and Beth are looking at her expectantly so she shakes her head and walks forwards. The heels of her boots clack repeatedly against the hardwood floor and the noise reverberates around the empty corridor.

It's a sound, Rachel realises not for the first time, that she has come to associate with her mother. Not a lullaby, or a laugh. But the sound of heels on a hard floor. The sound she heard each time her mother approached her at the piano, where the majority of their few pre-New-York encounters took place. The same sound she heard each time her mother walked away.

When she deems her close enough, Beth knocks twice on the door and pushes it open.

"Mom…? Mom? Oh, there you are!"

"Beth?"

"Yeah, Mommy, it's me! And I've brought some special guests to come see you."

Rachel hasn't taken another step forwards. She can see the shadows of Beth hugging her mother through the frosted glass and hear their greetings. Something twists inside her stomach. Beth's mom has recognised her today. Rachel suddenly doesn't know why she's here. She's not a special guest. At least, she doesn't feel like one.

Jesse turns to her. "Are you okay, baby?" He reaches out to her but Rachel just takes a step back, shaking her head.

"Who is it, Beth?" she hears her mother ask.

Rachel's palms are sweating. "Jesse, please just go in and see her. I'm sorry. I- I- I think I just need to go and get some water. I saw a bathroom down there, I'll be right back."

And before Jesse can say anything, before Beth can come out to fetch them, Rachel turns and scurries away, her heels clacking against the floor.

Rachel doesn't make it all the way to the bathroom. She finds a water dispenser with a stack of plastic cups next to it near the stairwell. Shakily, she fills a cup and takes a few gulps, trying to use the swallowing to get her breathing back under control. Ignoring the chair next to the dispenser which looks like it should have been plucked right from a public school office, she slides her back down against the wood panelling until she's sitting on the floor. She rests her head against the ridged wood and swills the water around the little plastic cup.

Rachel Berry is well versed in the art of the storm-out. While she's had to tone them down considerably in her professional years, (apparently leaving midway through rehearsal doesn't go down well with directors) she's still found them an effective mode of getting her own way with her husband and children. Besides, they always give her time to think, to see things more clearly without being so wrapped up in the sheer emotion of a moment.

This, however, this isn't a storm-out. This is something that Rachel Berry, actress, mother, wife, student _doesn't_ do. This is running away.

Apparently running away is reserved for Rachel Berry, daughter.

But she's never run away before. _That_ she can promise herself. She wasn't the one who ran. She didn't stay and fight, either, but she definitely didn't run. As much as she might have wanted to.

Rachel sighs and forces herself to drink what's left in the cup. As long as she goes back, she tells herself, she still hasn't run away. She's just hit pause.

She remembers that's what her dads told her getting a drink of water was for anyway. Picking at the curved plastic edge of the cup, she thinks about all the times they placed her down on their living room sofa, put a glass of water in front of her, and told her she had to finish it before she could really talk about how she was feeling.

But now Rachel's finished her water, and she still doesn't know what she feels. She just knows that she is feeling. A lot.

She leans over presses the plastic leaver on the dispenser to refill her cup. Now that she's started drinking, started trying to make sense of her feelings, a familiar thirst tickles her mouth.

_It got so I couldn't tell if I was sad or just… thirsty_, Rachel hears her fifteen year old self telling her mother.

She's replayed that moment so many times in her head, trying to pinpoint what exactly it was about that story that affected her mother so much. So much that it was the very thing she said had _turned _her from the path of having a relationship with her daughter.

Maybe, Rachel thinks, it was then that Shelby knew Rachel was more than she'd thought she would be signing up for. Maybe she saw through the sweet story for what it was, Rachel's dads desperately trying to find a way to calm their daughter when she got into one of her moods. But something, _something_ about a stupid cup of water had ruined their chance. And now it's too late.

And yet, here she is, and the only thing she can think to do is try to drown her feelings in water that tastes like it's been in the dispenser too long. In her frustration, Rachel throws the cup against the wall opposite her, hearing it clatter and watching as the droplets trickle down into a puddle on the wooden floor. She flings her head back against the wall and lets a single tear slide down her cheek.

"Hello? Is everything okay?" someone calls from down the stairs. She can't find it in her to reply, or even move until she hears the tell-tale creaking of someone coming up towards her.

"_Shit_," she hisses, hastily crawling across to the spilled water, trying and failing to mop it up with her bare hands.

"Hey, miss, are you okay?"

"Hi- sorry, yeah, I just spilled-." She turns around to look for a paper towel, or a napkin to try to mop it up when she sees that it's Sammy who has come to check on her.

"Oh, hi. It was Rachel, right?" he says kindly. Looking down at the spilled water, he produces a tissue from a pocket in his scrubs and bends down to start cleaning.

"Yeah- look I'm sorry, I'll do that." Rachel tries to reach for the tissue but he bats her away.

"All done." He smiles up and her. "Don't worry, hon. Accidents happen."

Rachel nods. "Thank you. Guess I'm just getting clumsy."

"So are you sure that everything's okay?" He's shooting her a concerned but skeptical look, and Rachel's not sure whether it's that, or the fact that all her emotions are about to come erupting out, that she finds she can't do anything except lower herself back to the ground.

"Oh, honey," Sammy says, crouching down next to her and placing a hand on her shoulder. "It can be really hard to see someone you love like this. It's okay to feel emotional."

"I don't know whether I love her."

"What?" Sammy lowers himself to sit next to her so they're both leaning up against the wall.

Rachel's personally just surprised he isn't running away. She must sound like some kind of heartless bitch.

"I mean, I do love her. I know I do. She's my mother." Sammy nods, but he still looks confused. Rachel doesn't blame him, she's confused too. "But she's not my mom."

"Is there a difference?" Sammy asks. Once upon a time, Rachel would have probably had the same question.

"I think there is, yeah. And when I look at Beth, and how she is, I just _know_ there is." She sighs and looks up at the ceiling. There's a swirling cream pattern. It reminds her of the photo frame on her mother's mantlepiece. "I can probably count the number of proper conversations I've had with her on both hands. I don't know her like they do."

Sammy either doesn't need to know who they are, or doesn't think it matters. He just smiles sadly at Rachel. "You know, you look a lot like her. Like a lot."

At different points in her life, that statement would have either ripped Rachel's heart right in two, or maybe make her smile with pride. Now it just adds to her uncertainty.

"Is that enough?"

Sammy shrugs. "Does it matter? Beth told you she's been asking for you, right?" Rachel lowers her eyes to his and nods. "So even if you think you don't know her that well, she still wants you."

A dry laugh escapes Rachel's lips. "She didn't want me before."

"Maybe she just didn't know how to express it. There's less barriers now, less divisions, you know. When people reach her stage of the disease, it can make it hard for them to tell the past and present apart. There's just a…" he pauses, rubbing his fingers together, as if within them he might find the right word. "There's just a _now_."

"So, she wants me now?" Rachel says quietly. She almost doesn't want the nurse to hear, but she knows that if she's going to get up and go into that room, she needs some kind of confirmation.

"Right," he replies. "Seize the now."

Rachel has to resist rolling her eyes. "Now that's just cheesy."

Sammy laughs. "Go on, hon. Go see your mom."

Rachel's halfway back towards her mother's room when Beth rounds the corner, almost crashing into her.

"There you are!" she cries, pulling Rachel into yet another bone-crushing hug. "We were worried about you."

Rachel smiles. "Sorry, I just needed a second."

Beth nods. "I get it, trust me." She links her arm through Rachel's as they begin to walk back along the corridor.

"Is Jesse in there with her?"

"Yup." She pops the 'p' with a smirk. "She's got him cornered on some top secret Vocal Adrenaline business. She sent me away because apparently, it's team members only." They reach the door, and Beth beckons her over. "Come listen."

"Jesse, you're the _only_ one who can do it. _Please_." Rachel's heart hammers in her chest at hearing her mother's voice properly for the first time in years.

"I will, Ms C," Jesse says, just as seriously. Rachel can't help but wonder what they're talking about. Or what her mother thinks they're talking about. But then again, she thinks, musing over Sammy's words, is there a difference? If now is just _now_?

"Jess, I _need _this," her mother says. Maybe it's about a nationals routine, she's heard Jesse's stories about how worked up she used to get over those.

"I know."

"This isn't just some stupid glee competition. This is my _life, _Jesse. Maybe my only stab at having a real life." Well there's her current theory out of the running.

"I'll do it, Shelby, I promise. I won't let you down." Rachel can hear her mother sniffling, something she's never encountered before.

"I _need _her. I _need _my daughter, my baby girl."

Rachel's blood runs cold, and she feels Beth tensing next to her. Before she has time to react any further, she can feel the younger woman lean in to whisper in her ear.

"You should go in, Rach. I'll be right out here."

Rachel turns her head and sees the pain in Beth's eyes. It's the same pain she's sure has danced around her own on more than a few occasions.

"Beth I-."

Beth presses her lips together. "I know, it's okay." She jerks her head to the open door. "Go."

And so Rachel tentatively slips her body within the frame of the door, and does something she hasn't done for almost thirty years. Not since a day in her sophomore year whilst wearing a dress stapled with her old stuffed animals. She ignores the gap between 'mother' and 'mom'.

The two people in the room, decorated in a way that almost mimics the living room Rachel was in earlier, both look up at the intrusion. The woman's mouth opens and shuts confusedly as she turns completely away from Jesse and stands up from the sofa they're sitting on.

"Rachel?" Shelby breathes, her wide eyes filling with tears.

"Hi, Mom."

* * *

**_A/N: _Thank you so much for the response to the first chapter- I honestly wasn't expecting anyone to read it. Would love to know what you thought of this one, and the next should be up in a couple of days. Any and all suggestions welcome :)**


	3. Chapter 3

When Rachel was fifteen, obsessing over minuscule details of her future and refusing to let the torments of small town America bring her down, she believed that not having the relationship with her mother she so craved, not having a mom, would endlessly plague her life. She imagined breaking down on morning talk shows when they asked why she had two fathers but no mother. She pictured having to go through the painstaking details of the failed mother-daughter reunion to everyone she encountered in New York City. Once, she even had a dream that a cashier at a store wouldn't let her buy discounted Mother's Day chocolate until she could explain where exactly her own mother was.

In the end, no one had cared. In fact, more than a few people, particularly those within the industry, seemed rather impressed by the fact that Rachel had two dads. Especially since she hailed from conservative Ohio. She quickly learned to use this to her advantage; it did make her more metropolitan after all. The few times Rachel had mentioned to classmates or coworkers that she was about to go and visit her birth-mother, nobody really batted an eye. The theatre security guards who let Shelby in to Rachel's dressing-rooms thought their relationship to be heartwarming, sweet, unique.

Rachel didn't feel the aching tug on her motherless heart as much as her fifteen year old self had once believed. But there were moments. Fractured instances of time which stung like spilling saltwater into a forgotten cut.

At Rachel's wedding, for instance, as she glided down the aisle, beaming at her family and friends. She caught sight of her mother, seated near the back of the hall next to some of Jesse's old schoolmates from Vocal Adrenaline. There were tears glimmering in her eyes, Rachel noticed, but her position was peripheral, passive. She could have been anyone, tucked away at the back of the ceremony hall, rather than up in the front row with both of Rachel's other parents. Both seating options seemed inappropriate. She hugged Rachel and Jesse later, as they did their rounds at the reception, telling Rachel how wonderful she looked and wishing them the best of luck for the future.

It was what all the other guests had told them. But none of the other guests had a picture from that day framed on their mantelpiece.

The other moment that she dominated Rachel's mind, naturally, was when she gave birth. More specifically, around nineteen hours into her first labour. From the second they'd found out they were having a little baby girl, Jesse had joked that Rachel was about to see a large serving of all the tantrums, dramatics and stubbornness returned to her. They just hadn't expected it to happen before their daughter even entered the world.

Rachel had gone into labour in the middle of the night, awoken by what felt like the tiny baby hacking her insides apart with a little knife. She hit Jesse in the face until he woke up too. He scrambled to get their hospital bag together while muttering that of _course_ Rachel Berry's daughter couldn't wait until a sane time to make her parents frantically drive to the hospital. When they'd arrived and the doctors informed Rachel that she was barely three centimetres dilated, Jesse's complaints turned to a mocking gloat. The baby, he decided, was simply helping the universe deliver some karma for Rachel's impatience throughout her life. His wife had simply scowled and sent him to fetch more ice chips. She'd thrown her previous bowl at his head.

However, as night drew in again, after a day of Rachel moaning, singing and threatening to ground the baby as soon as it was born if it didn't come out soon, Jesse's jokes soon ceased. A steadily increasing stream of doctors entered their delivery suite, muttering tersely and seriously to each other as they studied the small screen displaying the baby's heartbeat.

When Rachel was being wheeled off for emergency surgery after one of the doctors had began frantically speaking into his phone about the baby being breached and the oxygen supply being compromised, Jesse couldn't find it in himself to say anything at all.

Rachel, just as uncharacteristically, remained silent too as an anaesthesiologist hooked her up to a drip. She stared ahead at the ceiling and thought of her mother. Was she just as scared when delivering her baby girl? Was she this alone? Sure, Jesse was still in the delivery suite, or maybe in a waiting room by now, but Rachel was alone in this operating room. Her dads had never been good with blood, squeezing their eyes shut almost as tightly as their daughter whenever she so much as skinned her knee. She couldn't imagine them voluntarily witnessing labour. As the searing pain in her stomach and back began to dwindle, she desperately clutched the plastic edges of the bed. Had her mother's hands also done this? Or was someone there to hold hers?

The scrubbed surgeon began to request the instruments to cut Rachel's baby from her. She remembered her mother explaining to her the process of her hysterectomy. How empty she had felt without her womb, how broken and alone she realised she was now that she would never share her body again. Rachel didn't know how this surgery was going to end. She hadn't missed the panicked and dire looks the doctors were shooting each other. Once she was off this table, was she also going to be broken and alone?

Then her daughter was placed against her chest, just for a moment until they sedated Rachel more fully, readying to close her back up. Without warning, the tightness in her chest ebbed away and all thoughts scurrying around her brain disappeared so she could memorise every crevice of her daughter's little face before her exhausted eyes flickered shut.

She didn't think of Shelby again until a bouquet of flowers and a small stuffed rabbit arrived at their apartment two weeks later.

But now, once again, Shelby is all Rachel can think of. Because she's once again standing in front of her mother.

Shelby turns to Jesse. "You found her for me?"

Jesse looks at Rachel and also stands. He's lost some of his usually confident demeanour. His voice, which was just moments previously assuring Shelby that he would indeed help her, make her dream of finding her daughter a reality seems to abandon him as he open and closes his mouth without a sound escaping.

"He did, Mom," Rachel says, closing the silence. She steps forward and takes one of Shelby's hands in her own. It's slightly clammy, shaking too, she realises. "He found me for you a while ago."

"A while ago?" she repeats, furrowing her brow and looking between her daughter and her husband.

Rachel nods. "Do you remember? We met while I was at high school. Jesse and I are married now."

"Y-you're married?"

"Mhm." Rachel lays her left hand on top of her mother's so her engagement ring and wedding band are exposed.

"You have the picture on your mantelpiece, remember?"

The nurses and Beth had informed Rachel that it was okay to remind her mother of things, so long as she didn't appear too distressed. Or at least until she started to get frustrated at her own version of events not aligning with everyone else's trajectory of memories.

"I-," Shelby's voice falters and she looks up from their joined hands. Green eyes meet brown as she looks at her daughter. "You looked so beautiful."

"So did you, Mom. I remember you were wearing green, which I thought was funny since you usually stick to darker colors. A lot of purple." Rachel nods at Shelby's current attire, delicate violet sweater hanging loosely from her slight frame.

"You like green."

Rachel smiles. "I do."

She feels her mother's hand tighten around her own slightly and sends what she hopes to be a reassuring squeeze back.

"I missed so much." Shelby's voice is tight and quiet. It cracks slightly and Rachel feels a lump forming in the back of her own throat.

"Well, you didn't miss our wedding." She glances, almost subconsciously at her husband, who takes this as his cue to walk tentatively towards the two women. "Beth's outside," she tells him softly. Shelby doesn't react to this, she seems too preoccupied with taking in Rachel's face, but Jesse nods. He lays a comforting hand on the small of his wife's back and he slips past her and out the door of the suite. It closes with a dull click and the only sound that remains is Shelby and Rachel's sharp breaths.

It's funny, Rachel supposes, that she feels the responsibility to break the silence, to put something into action. As the daughter, a part of her wants to look to Shelby, to follow her lead. But, then again, it's often been Rachel who takes the leap of faith first between the two of them. And now she not only feels like she has to, but wants to. Wants to offer her mother some kind of comfort and reassurance.

"Shall we make something to drink, Shelby? Some tea or something?" She's not sure why she reverts to using her mother's first name. Maybe it's because this is how she's almost always addressed her, and she wants things to feel as natural as possible.

If it confuses Shelby, she doesn't mention it, as she straightens her posture and finally releases Rachel's hand from her own. "Yes, I - uh - I think I have some somewhere." She glances around, as if trying to place herself back into the present.

"In the kitchen, maybe?" Rachel suggests, looking through the archway into the connecting smaller space where she can see a marbled island and a few kitchen appliances, glinting against the overhead lighting.

"Right," Shelby confirms with a sharp nod. "There's tea in the kitchen."

Once they're both seated back in the living room with steaming mugs of green tea, Rachel wonders what Jesse and Beth are doing. Both had assured her earlier that she was welcome to spend some alone time with her mother, but Rachel had dismissed that internally. _Defensively_, she thinks now. She didn't want to allow herself to think that that might happen, that her mother would recognise her enough, or perhaps care enough to want to spend time with the daughter she hadn't seen for so long alone.

She just hopes they aren't both as anxious as she feels now.

"What have you been up to?" Shelby asks as she blows on her mug. Her eyes peer over the top of it into Rachel's.

Rachel takes a large sip of her own, although it's still too hot, while she thinks of how to reply. She feels the scalding liquid leaving a hot trail down her chest as she swallows. She doesn't want to confuse her mother, but the nurses had told her that being as honest as possible was usually the best solution.

"Well, I haven't been working at the moment. Jesse and I like to alternate, to try to give the kids some stability, you know? If we're both working it's harder to make sure one of us is around for the school run."

"I never liked getting up early for school," Shelby says softly. Rachel isn't sure whether she's referring to her teaching days, or back when she was at school herself. It doesn't seem to matter.

"I can't do it as easily as I could once either." A small smile graces her lips. "I like to wait up for Jesse even when I'm not working, and Isaac always jumps out of bed so early. He's been running around the apartment for a good half an hour by the time I usually manage to drag myself to the coffee pot. When he's older, I think we're going to have to get him an elliptical for his room, like I used to have. Expend some of that crack of dawn energy, you know?"

Shelby smiles, but it doesn't reach her darting eyes.

"Jesse's got him into martial arts now, karate. So lately he's been practicing some of his kicks before school. I would complain, but the other day he broke a particularly hideous vase that Jesse's mom bought us, so I suppose it's not all bad."

Once Rachel's weak chuckle dies away, there's an uneasy silence again. She tries not to panic, thinking of some of the ideas Beth had given her earlier to get her mother talking.

"Would you maybe like to see some pictures of them?"

"Me?" Shelby frowns uncertainly.

"Yeah, you."

Her smile makes crinkles around her eyes this time. "I would love that, Rachel."

She flips through the pictures on her phone slowly, trying to explain the context behind each picture of her smiling children in enough detail that it creates some kind of conversational flow, but not so much that she confuses the older woman.

Her heart swells with pride as she reaches one of her daughter, taken just a few weeks before. Isabella is at the piano, her dark eyebrows furrowed in concentration and her tongue sticking out from between her lips just as Jesse's does when he's focussing hard on something.

"She's been taking lessons for about six months now," Rachel explains. "I think she's a bit frustrated that she can't quite sing and play at the same time yet, but she's definitely getting there. We gave her some of our old sheet music from shows once she complained to her teacher that playing 'London Bridge Is Falling Down' wasn't getting her any closer to securing her first Tony. That's what she wants to do, become an actress."

Shelby's eyes seem to glass over as she studies the form of the small girl on the phone screen. "My daughter wants to be an actress."

"Beth?" Rachel questions, although a part of her knows that's not who she's talking about.

She shakes her head, her eyes still not leaving the phone screen. "No. My daughter Rachel."

The lump in Rachel's throat returns with a vengeance. What had the nurses told her to do now? Maybe it was to correct her? Rachel can't really remember, but she knows she doesn't have the heart to.

"Oh? Really?"

"Yes. She'll make it, I know she will. She's so talented- she's… extraordinary."

Tears sting the back of Rachel's eyes. She's not sure she's ever experienced that feeling more than in the last couple of days. Not, at least, in her adult life.

A pause.

"Well, she has good genetics, I guess."

Shelby scoffs. "Do genetics really mean anything?"

"I think they must do. Especially when they're as strong as yours."

"Well at least I gave her something good."

Rachel can hear the bitterness in her mother's tone, and it cuts through her like a knife though she isn't sure exactly what is meant by it.

"You gave her a great life, Shelby. You gave a lot of people a great life. Look at your students. Jesse wouldn't have done nearly as well as he has done if it weren't for you. And," she takes a deep breath, willing her voice not to break, "just look at Beth. She's amazing, and she's all you."

"Beth?"

"Yeah, your daughter Beth." Rachel doesn't know whether she'll be able to take having to explain to Shelby who exactly Beth is.

Shelby finally looks up from the screen, which has gone black from lack of use anyway. "Beth went to California."

Rachel heaves a sigh of relief. "She did. But she's back now. I can go and get her for you if you want?" She begins to sit up from the couch. Maybe this was a bad idea, maybe it was all too soon. Beth knows what she's doing. Shelby's her mom after all.

But Rachel feels a cold hand reach out and wrap tightly around her wrist. "No. Stay."

"O-okay." She relaxes back into the cushions and shoots her mother a sheepish smile. "I'll stay."

Shelby looks up at her and blinks slowly. "Rachel?" Her tone is surprised, like she's only just noticed her oldest daughter sitting beside her.

"Yeah, Mom. It's me."

And then, for the first time in years, Rachel can't even remember the last time it happened, Shelby pulls her daughter into a tight embrace. She keeps her arm around her daughter as they bring out the phone again, and continue looking through various pictures. Rachel even shows her a few videos, of her family and a charity performance she was in a few months back. She's not entirely sure that Shelby is following everything she's saying, but she figures it doesn't really matter. There's a sense of comfort in leaning into her mother's side, feeling her breath against her neck. For a moment, she wants to feel like everything has returned to normal, but she knows that if everything was normal, they wouldn't be in this position at all.

"You really are very talented," Shelby says, as the Rachel on the screen sings the last notes of her latest eleven o'clock number.

"Thanks." There's a beat as they both watch Rachel take a bow, grinning broadly at her adoring audience. A thought flits across Rachel's mind. It's what they've always done, their own kind of normal. "Shelby? Do you maybe want to sing?"

"I-I," she falters. "I've always loved singing with you. But I don't know whether I can anymore." Rachel sighs, mentally cursing herself. Of course getting up and performing some ballad would be too much for her. She's ill. "I would love to hear you sing, though."

"Really?"

"I always love to."

Rachel grins at her mother. In these moments, she feels fifteen again; any scrap of affirmation she can garner from Shelby sends her heart soaring. But when she meets her mother's tired eyes, she knows neither of them are the same person they once were. And so when she leans back into the couch and begins to sing, it's the song that been floating through her mind on a loop since she answered the phone to Beth.

_Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better_  
_Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better_  
_Ooh-ah, you'll get better soon_  
_'Cause you have to_

_And I hate to make this all about me_  
_But who am I supposed to talk to?_  
_What am I supposed to do_  
_If there's no you?_

_This won't go back to normal, if it ever was_  
_It's been years of hoping, and I keep saying it because_  
_'Cause I have to_

_Ooh-ah, you'll get better_  
_Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better_  
_Ooh-ah, you'll get better soon_

_Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better_  
_Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better_  
_Ooh-ah, you'll get better soon_  
_'Cause you have to_

Shelby gives a little applause once she's finished. "That was wonderful, honey!"

"Thank you," Rachel murmurs, trying to discreetly wipe some of the tears accumulating in her eyes.

"Who was it about?" her mother asks.

After Rachel's finished loading the dishwasher and wiping down her kitchen surfaces that night, she finally takes a second to pause. She finds herself grasping the sides of the counter, not dissimilarly to how she once clutched at the edges of a hospital bed, and trying to steady her breathing. Then, she climbs the stairs to check on her children, as she does every night.

She watches Isabella's chest rise and fall slowly, a small smile plastered on her sleeping daughter's face, and hopes that she's somewhere nice in her dreams. She tucks the purple quilt around one of her small feet and secures Bugsy, her stuffed rabbit, under her little arm.

"Goodnight, honey," Rachel whispers, laying a kiss into her dark hair, "Mommy loves you."

* * *

**A/N: Hello, hi, I know, it's been a hot minute. And I also know this is short but I really wanted to get something up. The next part, which will be the last part, will be longer I promise. Truthfully, my sister got married last week and we had a really hard time with my grandma during the prep and actual day. She's developing pretty debilitating dementia and so I was just finding it hard to write this. But I think it's important, and this song ('Soon You'll Get Better' by Taylor Swift) is one I've been thinking about a lot. Anywho, hope you enjoyed and thank you for all of the amazing feedback so far! Would love to know what you thought of this one, and if you have any suggestions for the next one!**

**I've also been thinking a lot about a 'Shelby gets custody of a teenage Rachel' story I want to write, so if anyone's interested in seeing that please let me know! **

**:)**


	4. Chapter 4- Finale Part 1

_Twenty-one years ago_

Rachel sighed as she received the answering machine once again. Apparently, at some point over the last three days, answering the phone had become something entirely too hard for Shelby to do. It was weird. Usually, whenever she called, which granted wasn't that frequently, she barely had to wait three rings before she was answered. She moved the phone from her ear for just a second before pressing the call button once more.

One ring, two, three, four. Rachel was just about to hang up when she suddenly heard a rustling on the other end of the line.

"Hello?" Shelby sounded tired. Rachel threw a glance at the clock on her apartment wall. It was eleven in the morning, and she was surprised to think that she may have woken her mother up. After all, it was her and not Shelby who had been at the theatre until midnight last night, and then up even later, staring straight ahead at her bedroom ceiling as thoughts jumbled around her brain.

"Shelby, are you okay?"

"What?"

Rachel resisted the temptation to roll her eyes. Shelby's voice was raspy and confused.

"It's me," she said tersely, "Rachel."

"Oh- hey, Rach." There was more rustling and Rachel jerked the phone away from her ear slightly as the static became too much. "What's up?"

"I've been calling," she said. She waited for the apologies to start flooding in, but they didn't come, just that same rustling sound. It really appeared that her mother was still in bed, like the sheets were moving around her as she tried to sit up and take the phone call. "You haven't been answering."

Rachel heard her mother exhale sharply, but still no words. Not for a few seconds. "I've been busy."

She scoffed. Yeah, clearly much too busy to answer the phone to your daughter, Rachel wanted to snap. "Right, well I need your advice. Is it okay if I come over later before the show? Or are you too busy?"

"Rach-," Shelby started and Rachel could already hear the excuses.

"Fine. I get it," she said sharply.

It wasn't fair at all. She didn't think she was unreasonable at all when it came to her mother. She didn't ask for a lot and she respected the tricky boundaries of whatever their relationship seemed to be. But she needed her right now. She felt like she was being pulled in every direction and she desperately wanted to be able to talk it all out with someone. Kurt was busy with his new job, and preparing to go to Paris for an upcoming runway show, Santana wouldn't listen to the complexities of the situation, Jesse was, well he was a large part of the problem, and her dads wouldn't even let her begin to explain before they would be jumping on a plane from Ohio, probably with a therapist in tow. She needed to talk with her mother.

"No, look, I'm sorry," Shelby said tiredly. Rachel didn't think she sounded very sorry at all, but she was desperate, so decided to hear her out. "Stop by later this afternoon. I'm not going into work today, so just come whenever."

If Rachel wasn't so preoccupied with her own issues, she might have questioned why her workaholic mother was staying home today. Instead, she allowed herself a small smile at finally getting what she wanted. "Thanks, Shelby," she said, her tone becoming a lot sweeter than before, "I'll be there around three."

"Okay, sure."

"Bye, Shelby."

"Bye."

Rachel frittered about her apartment for a few hours until she finally decided it was late enough to leave. She'd only arrive at Shelby's place a little before the time she'd suggested to her earlier. She rode the subway uptown a couple of stops and made the short walk to the apartment building. It was nicer than her own, but then again, she'd only been out of college and working full-time for a few years. Most of the occupants were older business people and a few small families. Shelby fit in there perfectly.

Rachel knocked twice on the front door. She had her own key, although she'd only visited a couple of times before. Shelby had given it to her in case of emergencies, and taken a copy for Rachel's own home too. Neither would admit it, but they both relished in the moment. Swapping keys: it felt like such a mother-daughter thing to do. Rachel's fathers didn't even have a copy of her key.

When the door remained stoically shut after a couple of minutes- and several more knocks- Rachel considered fishing in her bag for the key, but decided against it. She may have been happy that her mother had agreed to let her come over, but she wasn't completely oblivious to the persuasion it had taken, and she really didn't want to push her luck. She rapped on the door once more, and took her phone out of her pocket, planning to call if Shelby still didn't open up for her.

She was just about to hit dial when she heard footsteps on the other side and finally the door swung open.

Rachel tried in vain to stop herself from audibly gasping at the sight of her mother. Sure, since their relationship had developed, she'd been privy to a more casual side of the woman than she'd ever seen during her school days, but this was something else. Shelby's long brown hair was unkempt and frizzy, scraped back with no attempt to locate a parting, like she'd been constantly running her fingers through it. She was wearing leggings and a large grey sweatshirt with a few stains scattered down the front. The thing that jumped out to Rachel the most were the glasses framing her tired eyes; she had never seen them before. She didn't even know her mother needed them.

"Hi, Rachel," she said softly, stepping back and allowing Rachel to walk past her into the apartment. Rachel did, but her gaze never moved from her mother's face, staring intently even as she passed and began to shrug off her jacket.

Shelby padded behind her as they entered the kitchen. Attempting to suppress a yawn, she gestured vaguely to the large coffee machine on the kitchen worktop. "Want one?"

Rachel nodded dumbly and slipped down onto one of the barstools. "Thanks," she managed to softly say as she watched Shelby flick the switch and gather up two mugs from a cupboard.

The kitchen, which on the previous occasions Rachel had visited had been close to spotless, was overrun with dirty dishes and half-full takeout containers. She had absolutely no idea what was going on.

"Where's Beth?" she asked, blowing gently into the mug of steaming coffee Shelby had just placed before her.

Shelby pushed her glasses up her nose and glanced down at her watch. "School. And then she has dance until five. Her friend's mom always give them a ride home."

"Oh right." Rachel wasn't sure what to say. She'd almost forgotten the reason she came over in the first place; her mind more preoccupied with trying to work out what the hell was wrong with her mother. "So," she started.

Shelby looked up from her coffee suddenly. "Right, you wanted to talk about something?"

Rachel paused. "Oh, I did, yeah. But I…"

"What?" Shelby's voice wasn't unkind, but it was tired. She held Rachel's gaze as she took a large swig of coffee.

"Um- are you okay?" Rachel asked tentatively. To be honest, she was quite proud of herself for not just coming out with it and asking why Shelby looked like the homeless lady who sat outside the bodega on Rachel's block. Maybe she'd learned some tact since she left school.

Shelby tilted her head to the side and swilled her coffee in the mug. "No. Not really. But what was it that you wanted?"

Rachel frowned. She didn't understand why Shelby would just brush things aside like that. Rachel had always been one to want to talk about her feelings, like why she was there right now. But her own problems could wait. "What's wrong?"

Shelby sighed. "Let's not do this, okay? Just tell me what you need and I'll try to help you."

"Why won't you let _me_ help _you_?" Rachel pleaded.

"I don't need help," Shelby said, without a hint of emotion in her voice. She maintained steady eye contact with Rachel, her blank expression never faltering. "But you said you did. So what is it?"

"Don't do that!" Rachel snapped. She slapped her hand down on the table in frustration and saw a few droplets of coffee leap out of the cup and onto the floor as it swayed slightly with the force.

She didn't miss it when Shelby rolled her eyes and reached for a paper towel to wipe it up. "Do what?" she hissed, kneeling down to clean. "Don't try to help you? Because if you don't want my help, Rachel, you're welcome to leave, okay? I have things to get on with."

She stood up again, raising her eyebrows at her daughter. Her face wasn't impassive anymore, it was just angry.

"What? Like lying around in bed until midday?" Rachel bit out. If Shelby wanted to argue, she was more than willing to comply. The emotions that had been bubbling in her for the last few days needed an outlet after all.

Shelby let out a humourless laugh. "You have no idea what you're talking about, Rachel," she said calmly. She turned and dropped the paper towel into the trash.

"Yeah, because you're shutting me out!" Rachel was on her feet now, giving one a small stamp at the injustice of the situation. She was here to let Shelby in, to talk to her about something she couldn't talk to anyone else about. Clearly the notion of sharing wasn't mutual.

"No I'm not. This just doesn't concern you."

"Well I'm _concerned_ about you! Look at yourself, Shelby!" She threw up a hand, gesturing at her mother's unusual appearance. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing!" Shelby snapped. "Now, what did you want, Rach?" She reached out for her daughter's arm and led her back into her seat. "You want to talk about work? About a boy?"

"I want to talk about you," Rachel muttered. She hated this. She was being treated like a child and she wasn't going to stand for it. She was twenty-three and could surely handle whatever it was that Shelby was going through.

"No," Shelby told her firmly. "You don't need to know."

"I thought we were moving past this," Rachel said, shaking her head. "I thought we could trust each other, and actually _talk_ to each other. But clearly that only works one way." And then she added the final nail in the coffin. "I bet _Beth_ knows."

Shelby's hand, which was still wrapped around Rachel's upper arm, clenched painfully and then moved to her hip. "Fine, Rachel! You want to know what's wrong?" she growled. "What's wrong is that my mom just died of a heart condition that nobody even knew she had. That I've spent the last week in Ohio trying to figure out how the hell I'm going to pay off the debts she's left, which are now my responsibility, while also planning and carrying out a funeral that nobody really wanted to attend." Rachel's mouth gaped open. She went to speak, but Shelby cut her off.

"And you know what, you're absolutely right. Beth _does_ know, because on top of all of that, my seven-year-old daughter is now absolutely convinced that I'm also going to die. I can't sleep, because every time I do, she seems to wake up and start screaming because she thinks I'm leaving her, and that I'm not ever going to come back.

"So, truly, Rachel, I'm sorry if you're offended that I haven't been at your beck and call for the past few days, but believe me when I say that I have been busy."

She leant back when she finished, breathing deeply. She lifted her glasses onto her head and rubbed underneath her eyes, where a few tears were beginning to fall.

"Shelby," Rachel said softly, reaching out her hand to try and comfort her mother, but her hand caught nothing but chilly air as Shelby quickly stepped back. She swallowed hard, trying not to cry herself. "I'm so sorry- I had no idea-."

"No," Shelby said coldly. "You didn't." She shook her head and seemed to regain her composure as quickly as she had lost it. "Rachel, I think you need to leave now."

Rachel didn't move from her seat. She couldn't, wouldn't just let Shelby kick her out after a revelation like that. At the very least she wanted to offer some comfort, but more so she wanted to know why she hadn't been informed. Sure, she'd never met Shelby's mom, and the woman had only rarely mentioned her, but still, that was technically her grandmother.

"Rachel, please," Shelby said more kindly after a few moments of silent stillness. "I really do have a lot I need to take care of."

"Let me help," Rachel said.

Shelby sighed and leaned across the counter, putting her hands on Rachel's shoulders. "You came here because you needed my help with something." It wasn't phrased as a question, but Rachel nodded anyway. "Right, so what can I do to help you?"

"I-," Rachel faltered. Her life-changing decision on whether she should stay in New York and workshop a new musical, or go with Jesse to Chicago while he performed in the revival of _Sweeney Todd_ for three months suddenly didn't seem so important. "It doesn't matter."

"Okay," Shelby said, rubbing Rachel's shoulders soothingly. "Then you should probably get going, honey. I have things to take care of before Beth gets home from dance."

"Okay," Rachel parroted. She didn't think she could say much else, so she walked back towards the entrance hall and slipped her jacket back on. "You could have called me, you know, Shelby."

"What?"

"Last week, or whenever it happened. You could have called me. I would have come with you to Ohio."

Shelby forced a weak smile. "Thank you, Rachel. But I had to go and sort things out. It was just a really hard situation for my family." She seemed to tense as soon as the last word left her lips. Rachel did too.

"Oh," she said stiffly. "Right."

"Rach, I'm sorry," Shelby said quickly. She caught Rachel's hand and gave it a small squeeze.

Rachel shook her head. "No I am. Sorry. For your loss." She extricated her hand from her mother's and opened the front door. "I guess it's really hard to lose your mom."

Then she turned and left the apartment. She never ended up going back there after that day.

She sat on the train back to her own apartment with her head pressed against the window. As the train rolled back downtown, she allowed a few tears to slip out. Some for the grandmother she would now never know, but mainly, once again, for her own mother.

000

Over twenty years later, Rachel sits on another train, speeding out of the city towards Long Island. She wills herself to stop thinking about that day; she shouldn't be replaying it over and over in her mind like a stubborn broken record. It's pointless and, like she's been telling herself repeatedly in the last few months, nothing can change the past.

She's been visiting Beth and Shelby through the fall months at least once a week, usually on a Monday, when Jesse has a day off the show so he can stay with the kids. She normally drives the car they share down to the Corcoran house before her and Beth journey together to the residential home where Shelby is. Today, however, Jesse wanted to use his day off to go and visit his sister in Connecticut. Since the kids are out of school for the beginning of the Christmas break, they all travelled there the night previously.

Rachel had been planning on going, or at least had told Jesse she was planning on going, but Beth had phoned on Saturday and relayed a conversation that she'd had with Shelby's doctor about a chest infection the woman had come down with. She'd assured Rachel that it was probably nothing, and she should go ahead with her trip like planned, but Rachel wasn't having it, and immediately booked herself a train ticket.

She reasoned to herself that she didn't particularly care for Jesse's sister or her family, and that they would all probably have a better time if she wasn't there. But she knew, deep down, that she would miss both Beth and her mother terribly if she didn't attend their usual visit. It was odd, she supposed, that she'd gone for such a long time without seeing either of them, and now couldn't imagine skipping a week. Even when Shelby didn't seem to recognise her, or worse, when she did, and didn't seem to want her there, or when Rachel would have to sit by and watch Beth laughing with her mom about memories from her childhood, she was so grateful to be there.

The train finally pulls in at Hempstead Station and Rachel forces her brain to shut off a little as she steps off into the frosty December air. Pulling her coat about her, she scours the parking lot for Beth's Lexus. She's sure it must have been Shelby's before everything happened, but she can never bring herself to ask. The sound of a blaring horn makes her literally jump into the air. She spins around and rolls her eyes when she sees Beth waving at her gleefully from behind the windshield.

"That was rude, you know," Rachel says as she hitches herself up onto the leather seat and slams the door behind her. "You could have given me a heart attack. And that's before you've even started driving."

"Don't be dramatic, Rach," Beth says with a laugh as she puts the car into reverse and starts driving in her characteristic- or as Rachel thinks of it, terrifying- style.

"I'm serious," Rachel tells her, "my heart is still beating so fast."

"Sorry- forgot you were old."

"I am not _old!_" Rachel whines. If it was Jesse driving, she would have landed a smack on his arm for a comment like that, but something tells her that is she were to do that to Beth, they'd most definitely end up driving down the wrong side of the road. "Wait- where are we going?" Rachel asks when she realises they're driving away from both the Corcoran house and the residential home.

Beth chuckles and simply keeps driving. "You'll see."

"You sound like a serial killer," Rachel says, she wonders how long it will take Jesse to track her location on her phone if Beth drives them off a cliff or something. Knowing him, he'll probably have to get one of the kids to show him.

"You're being very mean to me today, you know, Rach," Beth says, pouting.

"Oh so we're just ignoring how you called me old?"

"But you _are _old." She squeals when Rachel reaches over and pinches her arm, driving on the wrong side of the road be damned. "Besides," she says, turning to Rachel when they stop at a traffic light, "I'm the little sister so I can do whatever I want and you still have to be nice to me."

Rachel groans. "Pretty sure that's not how it works, B."

"It's not? It should be."

They drive for a while longer, with Beth finding Rachel's growing exasperation more and more amusing. Finally, they pull up outside a small row of stores and park right in front of a bakery.

"_We're here_," Beth singsongs, pulling the handbrake up and jumps out the car. Rachel shakes her head as she leans over to the driver's side and turns the headlights off. Beth owes her when her battery isn't flat.

"And where is that exactly?" Rachel says. She loops her arm though Beth's and together they walk up into the bakery. The smell of bread fills Rachel's nostrils and she breathes in deeply. It reminds her of being at home in Ohio.

"_Goldstein's_," Beth says, pointing at the sign behind the counter. "They do literally, like, the best bagels ever. Mom always used to get them for me when I was sick." They take their place in line to order. "Or like, when I moved to Cali for college, she would get them in the house for every time I was back at home."

"Right," Rachel says. She pushes down the stinging feeling of jealousy she always gets when Beth talks about things like this. She shouldn't be jealous. She had a great childhood with her dads, and Beth had a great childhood with her mom. "So why are we getting them now? Are you sick?"

"Do I look sick?" Beth asks, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder so that it smacks Rachel in the face. When she spots the mischievous glint in Rachel's eye, she quickly adds, "Don't answer that." Rachel laughs and extracts the last few strands of Beth's hair from her mouth. "Mom's sick, so I just thought it would be nice if we take them for her."

Rachel smiles. "That's so sweet."

"You sound surprised," Beth says, clasping her hand to her chest in mock horror. "I can be _very _sweet."

Before Rachel can retort, they're at the front of the line and Beth steps forward to order Shelby's favourites. The lady is bagging up the various bagels when Beth's phone starts to vibrate.

"Oh- it's the home," she tells Rachel, passing it back to her. "Can you grab it? They probably just want to know what time we'll be there."

"Sure," Rachel says. She slides the answer bar across and puts the phone to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hello, is that Beth Corcoran?"

"Uh- this is Beth's phone, but it's Rachel. I'm Beth's sister." She doesn't bother giving her last name. She's certain that most of the people who work at the home still haven't quite wrapped their heads around their family situation. Granted, sometimes Rachel isn't sure that she and Beth have quite done that either.

"Ah, okay. I'm sorry to inform you of this, Miss Corcoran, but your mother has been taken into hospital."

Rachel's blood runs cold. "What?"

Beth spins round and shoots Rachel a questioning look. The person on the other end of the phone is explaining something about the development in Shelby's chest infection and how an ambulance had to be called earlier that afternoon, but Rachel can barely take the words in anymore. Instead, she just holds the phone out to Beth, swapping it with the paper bag full of bagels she's holding.

A single tear spills down Rachel's cheek and falls onto the bag, soaking through instantly.

* * *

_**A/N: Hello- I know it's absolutely been a hot minute since I updated this. To be honest, it's been giving me a lot of trouble. I thought that this would only be in four parts, but there will be one more. A part two to this chapter really. Anyway, hope you enjoyed! Please do leave me a review and thanks again for everyone's support on this story! **_

_**I have about twenty thousand words of my next Rachel/Shelby endeavour prewritten and will start uploading once this story is done. It's called 'Regrettably' and is slightly AU- Shelby placed Rachel for adoption with the Berry men when she had Rachel during high school, and is coming to terms with doing so when Rachel enters her classroom as a 14 year old student with some secrets and regrets of her own. **_

_**See you with an update soon xo**_


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